


Friends in the Dark

by runawayballista



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-23
Updated: 2012-03-23
Packaged: 2017-11-02 09:46:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runawayballista/pseuds/runawayballista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>York's always one step behind Carolina, and from where he's standing, she needs a break. Freelancers drinking after a mission -- well, someone's going to make a mistake eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friends in the Dark

Ever since they had introduced the ranking system, York had always been one step behind Carolina. Maybe it was because they were that close in skill and efficiency and just getting shit done, but not once did York’s ranking jump ahead of hers. Even though he sometimes won out against her in training sessions, even though he knew better than anyone the way that she moved and fought, he was always one step behind her. But he was never as competitive as she was, and it was a pretty damn close step. He could be okay with that.

So when Carolina finally made it to number one, it was no surprise that York jumped right up behind her to number two. They’d always wound up on missions together -- they had a kind of rapport, and they just _worked_ together -- but now that they were the top two, the jobs were getting more intense. York was okay with that -- he was good in the field, even if his expertise lay in another area. But it was exhausting, and Carolina was getting sent off on solo missions here and there, now, and she always came back looking weary, despite her best attempts at hiding it. York could see it lurking just under her skin, stifling the energy that usually emanated so brilliantly from her.

She needed a break, but they weren’t about to get one, not for a while. Permission for leave was hard to get these days, especially when you were a hot commodity. Even downtime on the _Mother of Invention_ didn’t feel like much, not lately, not when there were training sessions and briefings and debriefings and just enough time to sleep.

On the way back to the _Mother of Invention_ after one particular mission, he couldn’t help but notice the way she slumped into her seat, the tired way she ran her fingers through her hair when she pulled off her helmet. If there was one thing Carolina could handle, it was pressure -- but the adjustment was taking its toll on her, for sure.

He opted to take the seat next to her and strapped himself in. Glancing at North and Wash, who were making small talk across from them, he murmured, “Hey, you all right?”

His inquiry was met with a withering look from Carolina, and she leaned back in her seat. “What? It’s a legitimate question. You look tired.”

“It was a long mission,” she said, a little stiffly. “I think we’re _all_ tired.”

“Well, yeah, but you’ve been working harder than any of us.” He was trying to sound sympathetic, but she seemed to be extra prickly today. “I’m just saying, you look a little -- ”

“I’m _fine_.”

York only shrugged. “Well, hey, at least we get a couple of days off this time. I guess the Director decided to remember we’re only human.”

“Well, thank God for that,” North spoke up, tipping his head slightly in agreement. “One hell of a mission, huh?”

“I’ll say,” muttered Wash. He flexed his right hand experimentally, and let out a quiet grunt. “That asshole nearly broke my hand.”

“Hey, you could still shoot, right? You’ll be fine.” He grinned a little, and nudged Wash with his elbow. “I think we all took a little bit of a beating today. But we got what we went in for. A win’s a win, right?”

“Wouldn’t have minded getting in and out a little faster,” Wash said, a little sourly, with a glance at York, who held his hands up.

“Hey, I went about as fast I could. Have _you_ ever tried to get through an encrypted lock with four guys shooting at you? Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

“Yeah, sorry about the lack of cover fire, York,” North said, shaking his head. “We, uh...well, we had some other guests to entertain, as it turned out.”

“Hey, it happens. I think we’ve all been there. You did the best you could.”

“You all did,” Carolina said, a nod of approval. “You did good work today, guys.”

“And no one even got shot this time,” York chimed.

“He almost broke my _hand_ ,” Wash muttered.

“Your hand is _fine_ ,” North told him, giving him a shove on the shoulder. “Hey, York, you have anything left in your stash?”

“Huh? Yeah, of course. What, you need something?”

“I was thinking maybe a little celebration is in order.” North looked kind of thoughtful, though he was smiling. “You know, take the night off, treat ourselves a little better than we have been. I think we could all use a drink or two after the last couple of jobs, don’t you?”

“Drink? Wait -- are you telling me you have _alcohol_?” Wash demanded. “On the _Mother of Invention_? How the hell -- ?”

“Oh, you know,” York said modestly. “I like to bring back souvenirs, once in a while.”

“Once in a while,” North snorted. “This son of a bitch finds a way to smuggle liquor back on board every time we touch down in civilian territory. I don’t even know how he finds the time to slip off for a booze run on most missions.”

Carolina let out a snort that sounded more like a laugh, and Wash gave York what he guessed had to be an incredulous look, although the helmet obscured his face. Not bothering to wait for further criticism of his extracurricular activities, York clapped his hands. “Sounds like a good idea to me. Any objections?”

“I...guess a few drinks couldn’t hurt,” Wash said grudgingly.

“Carolina?” York tilted his head in her direction. She pursed her lips, looking hesitant. “Aw, come on. You know you deserve it. Let’s live a little -- it’s just one night.”

“I don’t know, York -- ”

“He’s right,” said North, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Come on, have a drink with us. It’ll be fun!”

“More fun than getting shot at, even,” York added cheekily. Carolina rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “Come on, Carolina. You know you’re gonna end up coming anyway.”

“I’ve got better things to do, York.”

He shrugged, but he was grinning beneath his helmet. “Suit yourself.”

===

After their debriefing had concluded, York opted for a quick shower to rinse the sweat and grime off. Along with the satisfaction of a job well done, he always came back from missions with the feeling that he’d just spent three days rolling around in someone else’s filth. Those armor suits were stifling.

By the time North and Wash showed up, hair still damp and matted to their heads, York had laid out a small folding table and covered its surface with an array of bottles and mismatched shot glasses. Beneath it was a half-empty case of cheap beer in cans. The smuggler himself was sitting on his bed, wearing a pair of regulation sweatpants and a wifebeater that looked at least a size too big, and leaned over to retrieve something from underneath the bed.

North sidled in with a brief greeting to his bunkmate, heading over to flop down on his own bed across from York’s. He kicked off his shoes and glanced at Wash, who had stopped short at the door. “Come on in, man. It’s not like York’s got the room booby trapped.”

Wash, however, was staring at the arrangement on the table between the beds. “Holy shit,” he muttered. “That’s, uh...quite the collection you’ve got there.”

“Everyone’s got a vice,” said York mildly, coming up with a small bottle of wine, now two-thirds empty. Wash eyed the table as he entered the room and circled over to sit on North’s bed, eyebrows raised.

He could think of a few things to say to that, but he refrained from commenting. He peered at a few of the bottles, examining the labels. “So, uh...what are we drinking?”

“Take your pick.” York gestured broadly with one hand. “Oh, just -- take it easy on the good whiskey, will you? That stuff’s hard to come by.”

North sat up and retrieved two shot glasses from the edge of the table, handing one to Wash, who stared down at it. It was covered in garish, bright green text that read, ‘SHOW ME YOUR TITS, IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!’ Where did York even _get_ this stuff?

Still, he wasn’t about to make a fuss over stupid shot glasses when he was being offered free booze. He reached for a bottle of what looked like flavored vodka and unscrewed the cap, sniffing the contents. Underneath the pungent, burning scent of alcohol, he caught a whiff of something fruity -- raspberry, maybe? Good enough.

A rap at the open door caught their attention. Carolina leaned against the doorway in a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants almost identical to York’s, her wet hair held up with a hairclip. She crossed her arms and surveyed the room, one eyebrow raised.

“Well, look who showed up,” York said, his grin lopsided. “And I thought you had better things to do.”

“I’ll have _one drink_ ,” she said firmly, and stepped inside.

===

A few empty bottles and two games of Kings later, the four of them were still in North and York’s room. During a heated argument about the rules for the ace card, however, nearly an entire bottle of cheap rum had been spilled on North’s bed, and now he and Wash were relegated to the floor, the soiled sheets in a bunched up heap beside them. After they’d abandoned their last game of Kings, York had inadvertently knocked the deck of cards over, and since no one could be bothered with picking them up, they lay scattered over the floor and table, most of them damp or sticky with spilled alcohol. The case of beer was now empty, and in its place was a scattered pile of crushed beer cans.

North pulled himself out of his slouch, holding up his shot glass. “Anyone for another? I think there’s still some tequila left...”

Head cradled between his knees, Wash let out a groan. “ _No_.”

“I think that’s enough,” muttered Carolina. She was stretched out across York’s bed, her legs hanging off the edge. “I think it was enough an hour ago.”

York, huddled up against the corner on his bed, hiccuped and then let out a small burp. “You’re the one who said you were only going to have _one drink_.” He let his legs fall to the side, knees dangerously close to her head. Carolina swatted at them half-heartedly and sat up, grabbing for the wall when the room swam around her head.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she breathed. 

“Don’t throw up on my bed,” York said, sliding down to occupy the space she had vacated.

North examined his shot glass for a moment, shrugged, and tossed it aside. Fishing for the tequila among the sea of bottles on the table, he pulled it towards himself with a series of clumsy clinks, and without missing a beat, tipped it back over his mouth. He got most of it in before he choked and spluttered, sending out a fine spray of tequila mist over the entire table and Wash.

“ _North_ ,” Carolina said.

“Goddamn it, North. Again?” York sounded annoyed, but he looked too content on the bed to move. “We have that rule for a reason.”

North cleared his throat noisily, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “Sorry,” he said hoarsely. “Thought I could do it this time.”

“Yeah, you ever do that without choking, I’ll... _give_ you the tequila.” York propped himself up just enough to look over the table at Wash. “Hey, you okay there, buddy? You look a little, uh...not great.”

“Everything is terrible,” Wash mumbled into his knees. North patted him heavily on the shoulder.

“There’s some mood whiplash for you,” Carolina remarked, but her mouth was sort of twisted as though she somehow found it funny. “I swear you were giggling earlier.”

“That was before North punched me,” came Wash’s muffled reply.

“I didn’t punch you,” North said. “I _slapped_ you. Because you were being a bitch.”

“You were being kind of a bitch,” Carolina agreed, barely stifling a snort. Wash just made a thin, miserable noise from between his knees.

“Well, shit. I think maybe you need to go to bed.” York tried to sit all the way up, but with little success. “Here, I’ll walk you back to your bunk. If I can just -- damn it.”

North waved a hand at him, getting to his feet with relative ease. He never seemed to hit the ‘severely impaired motor functions’ part of being drunk, at least not as far as York had seen. “You stay put. I’ll take him. Come on, man, up you go.” North pulled Wash up by the arm, steadying him as he staggered and swayed. “Man, you look a little green around the edges. Let’s, uh, get you washed up first.”

“I hate you,” Wash gurgled as North helped him hobble out of the room.

“G’night, buddy,” York called after him, letting himself settle back down into the bed. He had slid almost all the way back into a lying position, his head still propped up against the wall. He nudged Carolina with his foot. “Hey. How you doin’?”

“Me? I’m fine. Drunk, but fine.”

“Can you stand up?”

“Yeah, why?” Her hair fell over her face, some of it having escaped the grasp of the clip. She didn’t bother brushing it away. She looked oddly content.

“Because I can’t. And I need to take a piss.” York reached out with one hand. “Will you give me a hand?”

“Charming,” she drawled, although a hazy amusement still hung over her expression.

“Come on, Carolina. I don’t wanna piss in my bed.”

“You’re drunk, you ass.”

“I know. And I have to pee.” His voice was thick with alcohol. He reached for her again. “Seriously, Carolina. I can’t get up.”

“I can’t believe you.” Despite herself, she let out a wry laugh, and staggered to her feet. She gripped York’s arm firmly and pulled him out of the bed, draping his arm around her shoulders. “God. You good? I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“You’re a very good leader,” he told her, as seriously as he could manage. “Never leave a man behind, not you.”

“ _God_ ,” she said again, exasperated, and helped him out the door and around the corner to the nearest toilet. She stopped at the doorway, leaning him against the wall. “I’m not going in there with you. I’m saving at least a little of my dignity for when I sober up.”

“No, it’s -- it’s good,” York muttered, fumbling for the door. “I’m good. You’re good, Carolina.” He pushed open the door, leaving it ajar as he staggered inside.

“You owe me one, York,” Carolina called in after him.

“Thank God for sweatpants,” she heard him mumble, and he let out a sigh as he began to relieve himself. “Does -- hey, Carolina, does saying I’m sorry count for anything?”

“You’re going to have to amp up the apology a bit, asshole.”

“Well, shit.” She heard the stream stop, and the shuffling sound of York’s feet as he tried to find his way back to the door. He managed to pull the door open enough to sidle through it, hanging onto the doorjamb as if he might fall otherwise. He was grinning, though, that lopsided grin he always had, and his eyes were lidded and his face was flushed, and his mussed hair was matted to his forehead in places. He looked so ridiculous in that moment that Carolina couldn’t help but laugh again, and he laughed, too. She shook her head and slipped her arm under his and helped him back to his bunk, closing the door behind them. When she let go, he crumpled onto his bed in a lazy pile of limbs, moving only enough to stuff a pillow under his head. She sat down on the bed next to him, glancing around the room in search of some form of water.

“Thanks,” he said, half into his pillow, still grinning at her.

“Don’t mention it. Really.”

“This is why you’re the number one.”

“You still owe me, York.” He only made an incoherent noise into his pillow in response. Carolina rolled her eyes and thumped him on the leg. “What happened to North?”

“Mmh?”

“I thought he’d be back by now,” she said, her eyes straying over to his bed, the mattress stripped bare. There was a dark patch where the rum had soaked in past the sheets.

“He’s probably just making sure Wash doesn’t choke on his own vomit,” York mumbled, shifting enough to roll over onto his side. “Or maybe he fell asleep on Wash’s floor. He does that sometimes. Not like he was gonna sleep in his own bed tonight anyway.”

“Mm.” Carolina leaned back and stretched, briefly. “I ought to head back to my bunk, too.”

“No, you should stay.” York scooted a little closer to the wall, trying to make more room for her. “Come on, just for a little bit.”

“Why? You worried about being left alone?”

“No...no, it’s just -- it’s nice, seeing you all relaxed and happy for a change.” That stupid grin never left his face. “You’ve been wound up so tight lately, with all the stuff going on. It’s good to see you have some fun once in a while.”

“You’re full of shit,” she told him, resting against the wall.

“You’re smiling,” he said, and moved to sit up. He felt a little less like his limbs were made of jelly now. “It’s nice.”

“You made me take you to the _bathroom_ , York.”

“I was kinda getting worried. It’s good to see you still know how to have fun once in a while.” Moving the pillow to his lap, he leaned against the wall next to her. “I’m glad you wound up coming.”

“That noticeable, huh?” she murmured.

“It’s a good look for you,” he said. “Looks good on you.”

He reached for her face, maybe to touch it, maybe to brush away the hair that fell over her eyes, but she caught his wrist halfway and held it, giving him a look. She looked halfway between amusement and exasperation, on the verge of laughing at him. “You’re so full of shit,” she said again, and grabbed him by the back of the neck.

It was far from an elegant kiss. Her front teeth knocked against York’s upper lip -- he was too slow to open his mouth in time, one step behind as always. But once he caught up, he lurched into the kiss with just a little too much force, knocking her away from the wall and onto the mattress. His legs tangled with hers, and there followed a few long moments of discomfort as he tried to regain control over them enough to move. Carolina’s hairclip pressed uncomfortably into the back of her head, and shifted under him to get a hand underneath her head to pull it away. Her hair spilled out messily around her head, catching around York’s fingers as he moved a hand around the back of her neck. For a while the room was quiet, only the sounds of their breathing filling the air. York’s tongue gnashed against her teeth, and he was so intensely focused on the sensation, so sunk in his drunken stupor, that for a moment he forgot to breathe.

He pulled back, sucking in a long breath. His eyes were almost comically wide, looking stunned stupid. “Well, shit,” he breathed, and pressed his mouth back against Carolina’s.

She shifted and pressed against him, hooking one leg around the back of his knee, as if trapping him. She pressed her hand into the small of his back, fanning her fingers out until each one was a point of pressure arched over the base of his spine. Her hand moved up his back, pulling up the wifebeater along with it, until finally her fingers curled around his shoulder. She squeezed briefly before letting go, pulling his shirt up until he drew back to shrug it off. 

York’s breathing was punctured with short grunts and murmurs, even when she moved her mouth away from his to kiss a trail from his ear to the crook of his neck. He propped himself up with one arm, sliding his free hand underneath her t-shirt, moving over the skin of her stomach until the tips of his fingers brushed against her sports bra. He meant to pull her bra and t-shirt off, all at once, but he was immediately distracted from the thought when he felt her hand press up between his legs. He let out a low, strangled noise, and settled for hurriedly pushing her bra up to her shoulders.

Carolina pressed her fingers against him, kneading insistently, but then she drew back and looked up at him impatiently. “Something wrong?” she asked archly. York fumbled with the waistband of his sweatpants.

“What? No, I -- _shit_.” Mercifully, he was too drunk to be bothered with anything than cursory embarrassment. Later, he’d feel the burn of shame just at the memory, but for now, his clouded mind was focused too narrowly. “No, it’s fine,” he said quickly, dipping one hand into his pants. He clenched his jaw and made a face. “It’s good, I’m good, I just need to -- damn it. Wait -- no -- nope, we’re good.”

He whistled out a sigh of relief and withdrew his hand from his pants. Crisis averted, he thought, dimly in the back of his mind somewhere, but before he could voice a witty comment, Carolina was already tugging his sweatpants down around his hips. York rocked back onto his hands, sliding his legs out from under him so he could kick his sweatpants off the rest of the way, and they joined his shirt in the growing pile next to the bed. It wasn’t until she was already on top of him, pressing her hips up against his growing erection, that he realized while she was still fully clothed, he was already down to his boxers.

She spared him the trouble of having to think about it, though, when she straddled his hips and pulled off the t-shirt and bra he’d already pushed up. When she arched her back to shrug them off, the pressure against York’s groin pushed a startled groan from his throat.

“Ohh,” he breathed, without even thinking. “Oh, damn. _Oh_.”

He reached up to press a hand against her breast, his grip firm for just a moment before he dragged his hand down to her hip. She bent over him, hands around his shoulders, and as she ground her hips against his, the ends of her hair brushed against his face. She was quiet; the only sounds from her were those of her shallow breathing, but even as York’s hand slid beneath her underwear, there was a steady stream of vocal noises bubbling up from his throat.

Carolina crushed her mouth against his, muffling his voice, breathing against him. Her breath was sharp with the smell of alcohol, and it burned in his mouth. He grabbed a fistful of her underwear and pants and pulled, exposing the curve of her hips to the dark of the room. He slid his hand under her ass, his exploratory touch quickly turning to a firm squeeze. He ran his hand all over the surface of her ass, her hips, slipping his fingers between her legs. He felt so clumsy all of a sudden, like a kid again, lying here drunk and halfway incapacitated. But then, she was drunk and clumsy too, in the way she staggered back on the bed so that he could drag her pants all the way off.

Everything started to tumble into a dark swirl. It felt like someone was playing with the speed settings in his brain, fast forward drowning out entire sections of the night into a merciless blur of sensations and sounds, only approximations of which he could remember later. For while all he was conscious of was the heat and the sharp sound of Carolina’s breathing, and then they were both naked, and his swollen cock was pressed tight against her thigh, and she was telling him to shut up, stop talking. He was hanging halfway off his bed, trying to remember where he kept his condoms. And then everything slowed down, impossibly slow, and it seemed to him that his drunk and stupid fingers fumbled with the condom wrapper for hours. Carolina was so distracting, with the way that she wouldn’t stop touching him, not even when he let out a grunt of frustration and dropped it altogether. It felt like her lips and hands were everywhere at once, and once in a while he got the taste of teeth.

The world spun, and she pushed him flat on his back, and he narrowly avoided slamming his head against the wall. The hand on his chest tightened as she clambered over him, her knees pressing into his hips. York let out an audible groan when her other hand wrapped around the base of his dick, but it was nothing like the yelp that jumped from his throat when she lowered her hips and slid the slick opening of her cunt along the head of his cock. Suddenly, it felt like every single one of York’s nerves was standing at attention. Even through the condom, it sensation was searing. His hips tried to buck upward of their own volition, but Carolina’s knees were like a vise, keeping him rooted to the bed.

York’s breath burned in his lungs. She moved excruciatingly slowly, it seemed, moving her hips to find the right angle. When she pushed down, sliding around his cock, York had to grab a fistful of sheet and shove it in his mouth to keep from yelling out loud. It had been a while -- he only entertained the occasional dalliance while on leave -- and the same must have been true for Carolina. The combination of alcohol and weeks, months, of pent up frustration had stirred a craving for release in him so intense that now that she was on top of him, York felt like every inch of him was on fire.

She arched over him like a shadow, one hand braced against the wall above his head. York grabbed her around the hips, his grip so tight he was halfway certain he’d leave marks, and when the fistful of sheet fell from his mouth he couldn’t help but let out a long, moaned “son of a _bitch_.” His skin was becoming slick with sweat, and every time she came down it felt like she simply glided off of him on her way back up. It was like a floodgate had opened somewhere in the core of him, and all of a sudden he realized that somewhere along the way, he’d lost his ability to keep himself quiet. His chest heaved with every groan and grunt and breathy exclamation, filling up the air between them exactly the way that Carolina’s breathing didn’t. For a fleeting moment she looked like she was going to say something, like she was going to cover his mouth with hers and tell him to stop talking, god, just _stop talking_ , but her breath hitched in her throat, and she thrust her hips down with such force that she dropped down on top of him, chest to chest, her face buried in the sheets above York’s shoulder. She ground down around the base of his cock, her knees tightening around his sides. York hooked an arm around her back, holding her down until her labored breathing reached its peak and she tensed, arched, and came, spasming around his cock. Her chest tightened, and she let out a rasped groan, shuddering and heaving.

York tried to keep his still, even for just a moment, but the tension was unbearable. Carolina shifted, and he moved with her, legs tangling until he settled back on top of her, propping himself up with his hands. He felt a sudden rush that tore through him, filling his head with air, and as he rocked his hips back and forth, he tipped his head back to better let each ragged breath tear from his throat. It wasn’t long before he felt something inside him begin to seize, the heat coiling tightly around the base of his spine. “Come on,” he found himself hissing through clenched teeth, without even meaning to. “Come _on_.”

When he came, the release took every shred of energy still left in his body with it. He collapsed in a wobbly heap on top of Carolina with a thready moan, his mouth suddenly dry, but he managed to roll over in time to fumble weakly with the condom. _To hell with it_ , he thought hazily as it slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor. The room was spinning too much for him to think anymore, and he blacked out to the sensation of sheets settling around his waist.

===

It was his dry mouth that woke him, not the dull ache spinning viciously in his head, but he noticed that quickly enough. He licked his lips -- they were cracked and dry, and he was suddenly possessed by the simultaneous urge to take a piss and chug a bottle of water. A thin groan leaked from his throat as he started to roll over and found that everything was just a little sore. And then he knocked into someone else’s warm body. He cracked one eye open.

“Son of a bitch,” he whispered hoarsely.

Carolina made some discomforted noise and raised her hands to cover her face. She apparently didn’t need to open her eyes to know where she was. York struggled to get into a sitting position, wiping at the side of his mouth.

“That was a _terrible_ idea.”

“That can’t happen again,” Carolina muttered through her hands.

“Never,” York agreed, pressing two fingers to his forehead. This was a hangover if he’d ever had one. He took little comfort in the thought that Carolina had to feel at least as shitty as he did right now. Blinking a few times to try and clear the sand from his eyes, he glanced across the room. His heart leapt for just a second until he realized North’s bed was still empty, and the ruined sheets looked like they hadn’t been touched all night. He let out an audible sigh of relief.

“No one can know.” Carolina’s voice was barely a croak. She pulled herself up alongside York, one hand trying to find purchase on the wall next to her. She leaned heavily against it. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“I’m not gonna tell anyone. Relax.” York couldn’t handle thinking about much more than how badly his head hurt. It felt like someone was slowly chipping away at the inside of his skull with a dull pickaxe. He raked his fingers through his hair and cringed.

“Where are my clothes?” Holding the sheet loosely to her chest, she searched around the bed and came up with her sports bra and sweatpants. York leaned over the bed to fetch the rest of her clothes from the heap on the floor, but he regretted it immediately when his stomach lurched with him. He dropped them in her lap and scooted back against the wall. He hoped the mess hall was serving something greasy for breakfast. He hoped the mess hall was serving breakfast at all. He didn’t have a clue what time it was, and he wasn’t yet prepared to glance at the clock on North’s bedside table.

Carolina managed to get dressed with minimum actual movement, and she half-crawled, half-rolled past York out of the bed. She looked about as awful as York felt. “Never again,” she repeated, staggering around the empty bottles and cans that littered the floor.

“My right hand to God,” York said, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

She stopped at the door, hand on the lever. “Hey,” she said. York looked up blearily. She was smiling around the headache. “Thanks for the invitation. It was nice to have a night off.”

He managed to give her that awful lopsided smile, and it just cracked his face right in half. “Anytime.”

He found his own sweatpants and pulled them back on, and she left the door ajar behind her. Running his hands over the sheets, he found the plastic hairclip she’d been wearing the night before, tangled somewhere in the bed. He thought, for a moment, about calling after her, about getting up and finding her, but instead, he tucked it into his pocket. Later, he thought. I’ll get back to her later. He was always one step behind her, anyway.

He hoisted himself off of the bed and surveyed the mess all around him. He couldn’t leave it all out, not like this. “Aw, hell,” he sighed, and set about cleaning up.


End file.
